Blind Access to the World
by Moku
Summary: After an accident involving Kurt's dog, Blaine is forced to work off community service hours. KLAINE, jerk!Blaine, AU, based on S02


**This might be a jerk!Blaine FF, **but that doesn't mean I don't like Blaine. I liked him more in season two than in three, but I still _like_ him. I love Klaine. I love Chris Colfer and Kurt Hummel. So if you hate Klaine or Blaine or Kurt (which I highly doubt), I advice you to go away.

Karofsky has a lot of appearances. No, he will not be romantically involved with Kurt. Yes, he will be a bully. Though I try to stay close to Season 2, there will be many adjustments (like Sebastian). Well, it's still an AU. ;) Doesn't mean I don't like Dave. I'm an avid Sebtofsky shipper.

Last of all, to my dear friend, who sooo passionately begged me on her knees to write this: I hate you as much as I love you for this story. I just hope you know that you doomed WB and Antaris to their early deaths.

And a very big **THANK YOU** to my wonderful betas Lori, Portia and Alaria Lyon. Particularly Lori, who I butchered with tons and tons of questions. However, with the patience of an angel, she helped me out wherever she could. This part by the way is unbetaed. Do the math.

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**Blind Access to the World**

* * *

**Things you should know about Judge Medary**

.

Judge Medary was a sixty-something old man, about to retire. In his thirty plus years in Juvenile Court there was not much he regretted. There were cases that had worn him out, cases where he would have liked to rather punish the parents than the children, cases were not even attorneys where present to defend a barely teenager.

But he hardened and got a thick skin.

And eventhought he had seen the worst of human kind, there were still sometimes cases that got under his skin in different ways. A twelve year old boy who raped a six year old girl and almost beat her to death. A sixteen year old mentally underdeveloped girl, that stabbed the father who had sexually abused her while her mother silently watched. A ten year old girl that set the house on fire while her parents were locked in the cellar and kept an eerie smile on her lips throughout the trial, a stuffed giraffe with plucked out eyes on her lap. He had seen a reunion of a kidnapped daughter with her parents after three years and it had been all he could do, not to let a tear escape his eyes.

And then there was the peculiar case of Blaine Anderson.

When Blaine Anderson first entered his hearing room, he was accused of assault with severe grievous bodily harm. Judge Medary met a scared and confused fourteen year old boy, who remained silent throughout the complete trial, staring at his hands while refusing to testify, no matter how much his lawyer urged him on. He remained mute. During the eyewitness accounts, there had been the occasional clenching of fists, the jaw tightening gritting of teeth. He was brimming with something, and Judge Medary assumed it was anything but good. The psychologist described him as a shy, mature and polite boy.

Something just wasn't adding up.

There must have been a reason for Blaine Anderson to get up in the middle of class and beat up three of his classmates with a chair. One of them had to stay in the hospital for two weeks with a severe concussion. But the classmates and the teacher reported the same thing over and over again.

Blaine Anderson just snapped.

Without any form of provocation.

There had been all these attention grabbing, media covered cases, but the one lingering the longest in his mind, had been an ignored, ordinary case of a boy beating up boys. And he knew the reason why. Because the decisions he had to made in these cases never left a sour aftertaste in his mouth. Not like in the case of Blaine Anderson.

During long sleepless nights Judge Medary continued to wonder, if his decision of sending him to the Circleville Correction Facility was the right one. Whether the assumption of destroying something inside him that was about to sprout was right.

Six months later he knew he was wrong.

Judge Medary only remembered him by the name, and looked at the boy in front of him twice when he read it on his documents. And even though the boy hadn't change much in his outer appeareance, he seemed unrecognisable.

He was nothing like he'd been a few months prior.

Judge Medary regretted his decision ever since and like a constant reminder, Blaine Anderson kept appearing in his hearing room again and again. However, no matter what he did, no matter what he was going to do, Judge Medary vowed never to send him to Circleville again.

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**Chapter 01 : Punisher**

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**

It took him over two hours to drive down to Lima in stop-and-go traffic and his lawyer had been sending text messages non-stop requesting when he would finally grace them with his presence. The last message was a few minutes before he arrived at the Hummel house, telling him he was leaving and Blaine could enter the wolf's den on his own. He was an hour late, he was pissed about the whole situation and he needed three cigarettes and another quarter of an hour to even get his nerves together to ring the bell. So when a tall boy with short brown hair opened the door and eyed him with obvious disgust, Blaine was ready to punch something.

"You're late," the boy said.

"No shit," Blaine replied, as he tried to push past the bigger boy. However, the other stopped him shortly with only one hand on his chest. "What is wrong with you?" he asked annoyed, taking the cigarette out of Blaine's mouth and flicked it to the ground, stubbing it out with his slippers. "You don't enter a house while smoking. Didn't your parents teach you any manners?"

"I don't have parents."

Which was a lie, but for a split second the seemingly gullible brunette actually looked like he regretted his words. At least until his anger surfaced as Blaine tried to enter the house yet again.

"Boots."

The teen looked down at his combat boots. "Yeah, I wear them sometimes."

"I meant," the other explained with forced patience. "Take them off."

"I know what you meant," he said, rolling his eyes. "Come on. They are clean. I never wear them outside my car." Which was another lie and not even a good one, since the soles were visibly dirty. But he really, really didn't want to take them off.

"Listen, asshole. We don't want you here as much as you don't want to _be_ here. So behave and the four months will be over without someone throttling anyone. Now take them off."

Blaine raised an eyebrow and wondered if he had just been threatened. "Then how's 'bout just telling that to the retarded judge? I wouldn't mind never coming back to this Pleasantville look alike."

"It's not _our_ fault that you have to come here!"

"It was _your_ dog."

"Which _you_ stole!"

"Now you're being petty."

The other boy stared at him. Open mouthed and incredulous. _Well, that was easy,_ Blaine thought, a smug smirk playing on his lips. Then he noticed another boy appearing next to the first, awkwardly touching the taller one's shoulder.

"Finn, just let him in," the unusually high voice said, eyes fixed on a spot somewhere above Blaine's head. The dark haired boy was tempted to look up and figure out what the other had been looking at, but without another word the brunette turned around and made his way into the back of the house.

So that was the asshole he had to blame for the "community service". The one who couldn't hold on to his pet. Who blamed him for the accident, that hadn't really even been _his_ fault. Well, he was _somewhat_ to blame, but it was not like he intended to cause any harm when he kidnapped the stupid dog. He didn't even know _why_ he had been so mesmerized with it. It had just been innocently sitting there in the park, adorned with a handle, cheerfully looking around. _It had a freaking handhold!_ It was practically waiting to be kidnapped. So in the next moment Blaine had the leash in his hand with an angry owner yelling after him.

But that was no reason for that Finn guy to look at him with more murderous intent than should be legal. However, he finally made way for Blaine to enter the house. As soon as he had taken his boots off, which was a pain, really. He would need ages to get them on again. The next time he would buy the ones with the zipper on the inside even though he would look like a pussy.

The house was middle class. A few almost dried up plants on the windowsills, horrible flowery curtains, fitting the equally ornate wallpaper. Heavy oak wood furniture made the interior look old fashioned. The walls were covered with family pictures. Smiling faces. And unlike the ones his family had at home they didn't seem fake. They were some kind of patchwork family, Blaine figured.

Though even that was disgustingly normal.

He suspected corpses in the backyard.

Bored, he followed the freakishly tall guy into the living room which was packed with a bunch of multiracial adolescents, who all turned their heads abruptly to scrutinize him. Blaine stopped dead in his tracks, natural self-preservation instinct kicking in as he contemplated the fastest escape route, which would probably be the window right next to him. With the brier and haws right in front.

Great.

"I don't like his face," a black girl eventually said, and this seemed to trigger a barrage of insults, as the others in the room started to comment on his hair - which apparently looked like a bird's nest – and moved soon on to his clothes, piercings, eyebrows, attitude, self-fabricated history and lastly to the incompetent, stupid asshole of a judge.

At least they all agreed what a dumb ass move this was.

Blaine even joined in on their ranting about the old man and his questionable mental state. Internally, mind you. He wasn't going to be associated with any of these people. As they continued their inane chatter about him, his style, Judge Medary and his crime, he took in the different faces, wondering if he had to remember _all_ of them somehow in the next four months. He wasn't good with faces as it was, much less names. Maybe he should just give them nicknames. He could remember those.

The boy responsible for his dilemma however hadn't uttered a word, just leaned against a wall, hands crossed in front of his chest, listening to the on goings without comment or any indication that he was even present. If Blaine were smart, he would have stopped listening halfway through the rant, too.

But Blaine was not smart.

Apparently.

He _stole_ a _dog_.

He'd never even heard of someone sent to juvie for kidnapping a dog, but there was a first for everything. Or maybe it was just bad karma, that the dog broke free from his grip and, in its hurry to return to its owner, ran straight into the street and in front of a car. Blaine wasn't even sure what he would have done with the dog, if he had successfully stolen it. But to be fair, most of the time he didn't know what he would do with the things he picked up.

The last time it had been a set of wall plates.

After thinking about using them for firing practice and as some kind of bird scarer for the Dalton Academy's garden plot, he eventually brought them to the local retirement center and distributed them among the old people. He figured they would love useless stuff and he was rid of the junk.

He would have probably found a use for the dog as well, and if not, well the old folks would probably be happy to spend their last money on feeding a no-good parasite.

Speaking of parasite. Blaine stopped in his thoughts, intently listening for any sign, that a dog was somewhere in the house. He didn't know what had happened, after the animal was hit by the car. He more or less fled the scene during all the commotion that broke loose, but someone among the horde must have known him, because it didn't take long for the police to arrive at the Anderson's doorstep. The only things he could actually remember were the sounds. Squealing wheels. A dull thud. A short yelp. Followed by a bloodcurdling cry. Judy. That was the name of the dog. He could still hear it ringing in his ears.

He glanced at the boy leaning against the wall. Kurt. Blaine hadn't seen him during the trial since all he could contribute had been 'Someone stole my dog.' As if he had felt Blaine staring at him, the boy suddenly looked up.

"That's enough," Kurt said, abruptly interrupting the heated argument about whether or not Blaine was going to leave the boy somewhere in the middle of nowhere to get out of this community service thing. "It's not like it's our decision." The brunette pushed himself off the wall, slowly coming up to him.

"You're not gonna touch my face, are you?" Blaine asked, taking one step back as the other stopped in front of him.

"No, I don't care what you look like." The other tilted his head, eyes unfocused.

Blaine thought they would look creepier. Like milky or with scars, or like the ones he had seen in Horror Express or The Grduge. He expected him to wear sunglasses to hide them. Yet, strangely, they were bright blue with brown rims, listless, but oddly intriguing. He couldn't help but stare at them.

"You smell of cigarettes," the boy stated suddenly. "I don't like it. So stop."

Blaine opened his mouth, about to retort, but was interrupted by the immaculately neat boy. "And you will come here everyday, after school. That would be five pm. Sharp. I hate unpunctuality. You will help me with daily chores. The one's that Judy usually helped me with and more. Your lawyer said we should just treat you like a maid."

_What?_

Hank that motherfucker! Asshole, prick, jerk!

"Any questions so far?" the other interrupted his mental Tourette indifferently and Blaine pressed his lips together.

It actually really pissed him off. This calm demeanour. Observing. Rational. _Haughty_.

"One," he started. "What happened to the dead dog I have to fill in for?" The reaction was instant. Three of the boys on the couch jumped up, and the girls next to them held them back, one Asian girl even jumped on the back of the Asian boy. That Finn guy, still next to him and closest, grabbed him by the collar with an indignant "What?". Blaine's eyes remained on the brunette and he was surprised about the accuracy with which the other boy could locate him.

"My baby is not dead, you asshole!" the tall brunette yelled, Blaine almost expected him to spit in his face.

"She is my dog, Finn," Kurt corrected nonplussed.

"This guy is the worst," a blond boy with a really big mouth growled from the couch, held back by the black girl.

Blaine watched them with bored eyes, making a point of avoiding the manhandling of the taller boy. "Then what am I doing here?" he asked, feeling the grip tightening.

"You're here because Judy got into an accident because of you!"

"Finn," Kurt sighed, one hand reaching out to the place where the boys hands almost ripped Blaine's shirt. "Stop that."

"She can't even move until her fracture is healed. Do you know how much pain she is in because of you?"

"It's not my fault that that guy," Blaine pointed at Kurt, "is too proud to carry a cane, now is it?"

"Yes, because stealing from someone who is not blind makes is so much better," a boy in a wheelchair commented, disdainfully.

"Was the special gear no indication at all for you?" Kurt asked, still abnormally calm.

Blaine opened his mouth, and then paused for a short moment. He really couldn't remember what had gone through his head at that time, but he blamed the marijuana going through his system. Vaguely, he could remember thinking that the dog was special. Seeing as it had a handle and all. Maybe he thought it was a narcotics detection dog. Blaine had been kind of intoxicated with _something_. Therefore the dog was practically _his_ dog. However he refrained from telling anyone about this. "Actually. No," he eventually offered. "But in retrospect, it might have been the reason why I was so fixated on that dog."

"Alright, that's it. I'm gonna punch that fucker in the face," a guy with a mohawk suddenly yelled, struggling against the strong hold of two girls.

Blaine really thought that jumping through the window – landing in poisonous plants or not - was a fine option indeed.

"And this is why I told you I don't want them here," the blind boy said to Finn, rubbing his temple.

"Yeah well, what should I have told them? They wanted to be there for you."

"You mean they wanted to be here when Judy comes back."

Finn didn't answer, but looked guiltily to the people on the couch.

"Of course not, Kurt." A dark haired girl with an annoyingly loud voice answered. Either she just liked to hear herself speak, or she was deaf. And she was speaking way too fast. "You know we are all here because we love you and we want to support you in the face of such disgusting evil," she looked pointedly at Blaine, but turned her attention immediately back to her friend. "But we care deeply for Judy as well. And we just want to make sure she is healthy when she returns."

"Right," Kurt answered.

Blaine wondered if anyone would notice him leaving. He figured he should just try and see, so he backed away slowly. Albeit, his escape was quickly interrupted as he bumped into someone. As he turned around, he saw a somewhat familiar big old guy wearing a baseball hat that Blaine was pretty sure was being used to cover up a receding hairline.

"What's going on here?" a deep voice grumbled and even the Mohawk stopped his yelling.

"Dad."

And then Blaine remembered that guy, clothed in a dark blue suit instead of jeans, shirt and engine oil, angry and a little bit scary throughout the thirty minutes of trial. And when the judge announced the verdict it looked like the man was about to jump over the table and punch someone, yet he kept still, accepting the judge's decision.

Now, the man looked around the room, nodding to himself as if to show that he understood the situation even without explanation. "I know you worry about Kurt, but I have to ask you all to leave," the man finally said.

"Just because you can't control yourself, Puck," the black girl said, slapping him on the upper arm.

"It's not my fault," the Mohawk defended himself, as the group of teenagers started to walk to the front door passing Blaine by and intentionally bumping into him.

"Should we wait at the Lima Bean for you?" the girl with the long nose asked, before she moved past.

"No," Kurt answered shortly.

"I understand. When Judy comes back, give her a kiss. It's unfortunate you couldn't go with Carol to pick her up, because _someone_ chose to be late." She threw Blaine a dirty look, flipped her hair back and marched out of the room.

Mohawk was the only one who not only bumbed into him, but also grabbed him by the shirt, intimidatingly closing in. "Listen trash. I've been to juvie. We eat kids like you for breakfast. If you so much as dare to lay a finger on my boy Kurt, I will gladly give up my waffles and kosher meals, to make it so that you won't be able to ever move a finger again." He pushed him back on his collar, and proceeded to the front door. Blaine just followed the weirdo with his eyes, one hand on his sternum.

"Who the _fuck_ are they?" he asked, incredulous.

"Family," Finn growled.

"Even the black girl? And the two Asians? Are you like one big patchwork family or something? Are Angelina und Brad your rolemodels?" No one reacted to his words.

"Sit down," the man eventually said. Without further comment Blaine searched for a spot with convenient escape routes and plopped down on the armchair closest to the hallway. The other three sat down on the couch, two of them looking at him intensely.

"My name is Burt Hummel. You have met my sons Kurt and Finn," he introduced them. It was probably his turn to introduce himself, but he'd rather bite his tongue off. "Now I understand why the judge gave you community service," the man continued. "He probably believes it was an act of discrimination. I, however, think you're plain stupid." No arguing against that, Blaine thought, but just raised an eyebrow. "And if it hadn't been for your lawyer, who told us 'what a nice boy you actually were, but just needed a little warm up time' I wouldn't have let you pass the threshold."

Blaine dropped his eyes.

Stupid lawyer.

Hank, a handsome slim man with greying black hair, was his father's best friend and emotionally he was probably the coldest guy Blaine had ever the misfortune to meet. He was gruff, and spoke with a bored voice. His mind was constantly occupied with his next case, which generally caused him to ignore the people around him. The teenager could just imagine, how the man had sat on the flowery couch, coffee in one hand and speaking with his robotic voice, blandly rattling through a very short list of Blaine's good points, while sweeping negative characteristics under the rug. Which was a disgusting, flowery pattern, like almost everything seemed to be in this room.

What was it with the Hummels and flowers? Practically every object had some kind of flower pattern, except the heavy wooden furniture. The whole family seemed to be colorblind _and_ lack taste. The only person with some kind of fashion sense actually seemed to be the blind guy – if he was indeed choosing his clothes himself.

"Kurt lost his sight at the age of thirteen," the man started, and his son looked everything but pleased that he would bare his life story in front of a stranger. "He is still in training and has a lot to learn. So twice a month Kurt has to attend a school in Springfield. As per your lawyer's request, you will take him there."

Blaine furrowed his brows. "By my lawyer's request?" Was this a conspiracy? What was wrong with Judge Medary and Hank? "What're you talking about? That's an hour and a half drive! I'm gonna spend the whole damn time in my car being his damn chauffer!" Just the thought of how time-consuming these visits were made him angry.

Burt narrowed his eyes and Blaine cursed under his breath.

"Even though he is learning echolocation he still has to rely on Judy a lot to get around. That means you will help him with chores like shopping," the man continued. "And more importantly, you will help him with tending to Judy. Usually we would adapt our schedules, but since we have a reliable helper I guess there is no need." Blaine watched the blind boy, silentely playing with his hands.

"I still think we can't trust him." The brother objected. "I mean, he kidnapped a dog! From a blind person!"

"Yes, Finn. Thanks for explaining. _Again_."

"I'm just worried about you!"

Blaine rolled his head back, listening to the over protective words of the older brother while looking at the ceiling. He could relate. He really could. His brother was equally stupid but at least more handsome even without being biased. At least his brother was somewhere in Hollywood and had only little time to crush him with over protective love.

Their yapping went on for a while and Blaine chose to let his thoughts drift somewhere more pleasant. Somewhere without flowers. Without bickering siblings. Without a father that watched them with a warm strictness that just said 'Stop fighting'. However, he failed to find that certain place. He frowned, then shook his head.

"You don't?" Burt suddenly asked. Blaine looked blankly back at the trio, that watched him expectantly. Well, at least the two that could.

"Do you understand?" Burt repeated.

"Yes." He answered without missing a beat.

What was going on?

"Good. Finn will accompany you two."

What?

A few minutes later, Blaine sat on the threshold of the Hummel family house, trying to put on his boots.

"What's taking him so long?" Kurt grumbled, his stance akimbo, with one foot impatiently tapping on the ground. "I want to be back when Judy comes home."

"His shoes," Finn answered as if these two words would explain everything.

"What kind of shoes is he wearing?"

"Black ones."

"Black ones? Really Finn? Now that narrows it down." His little brother sighed exaperated. "Are they trouser shoes? Has he been running around in his underwear till now because you forced him to take them off?"

"What?" Finn exclaimed, "I don't even know what trouser shoes are."

"You know, the ones with the cross stitching at the side. You put them on like trousers, they go up to your thighs, hence the name. Some have zipper on the inner side, and—"

"No, he is not wearing them. But it's close."

Kurt furrowed his forehead and Blaine tried to ignore the two idiots, while tying his shoelaces.

"Is he some kind of punk? Does he have dyed hair and piercings all over his body, some of them in parts I don't even want to think about?"

"I think he is more emo."

"What?" Blaine yelled, even though he really didn't intend to sound so angry. "What the fuck looks emo on me?"

"Oh, you know, the black clothes, and the boots and the weird hairstyle…"

"Weird hairstyle? What, like one half shaved and the other half has hair reaching to his hips, probably dyed in seven different rainbow colors?"

"Exactly."

"Awesome."

"No, Kurt, it's not awesome. He doesn't rock that look."

"Oh."

"Would you stop? I don't have that hairdo!" Blaine eventually barked, finished with one boot and moving on to the next.

"He doesn't?"

"No, he doesn't."

"Disappointing."

"But it's still weird."

"That's my natural hair, okay? It's curly, yes, not like I can do anything besides shaving it."

"So his hair _is_ shaved?"

"No, it's just curly."

Kurt frowned, and Blaine dreaded whatever was playing in the mind of the little fucker. He should have let him touch him but then again it's not like he really cared about what others thought he looked like. At least that was what he had assumed. But the thought of him in hip high shoes, with long hair really turned him off and someone thinking that he _really_ looked like that was even more offensive than he thought possible.

"I'm not an emo, I just wear boots with shoelaces and straps that are probably not even worth the bother."

Kurt had his head turned to him, slightly tilted to the side, one hand thoughtfully on his chin. "What about his clothes, Finn?"

Blaine rolled his eyes.

"As I said, black."

"You're like a comedy duo. Intentionally?" Blaine said, standing up since he had _finally_ put on his boots. A successful smile played on his lips, until he turned to watch the two stupid brothers, their attention already focused on him.

"Let's go," Finn eventually commanded, promptly reaching for his little brothers hand, but was outright rejected. Kurt walked next to the tall brunette, while Blaine trailed behind, a constant clicking in his ears. Paranoid, he checked around a few times, even pressed the hands against his ears to figure out if it was some kind of tinnitus, until he finally noticed that Kurt was producing the sounds at irregular intervals.

"Lima is a small town," Finn started to explain. "We live in the outskirt, so the school is about twenty minutes. I take Kurt with me to school, most of the time he waits until my club ends – if we aren't together in Glee."

"Glee?" Blaine asked. "Oh, don't tell me you two are some of those crazy real life wannabe musical artists, that have to sing a song instead of just _saying_ how their day was?"

Finn turned slightly in his direction. "We're both members of the McKinley High Glee Club."

Blaine let out an exasperated sigh. Dalton had a Glee club. Dalton's Glee Club had a waiting list for members. Dalton's Glee Club members were singing stalkers, that danced through half of the school and let themselves be celebrated as if they were famous. Which they weren't. And they weren't rockstars, like their President and compulsive Stalker No. 1 liked to pretend.

If the McKinley High Glee Club was as weird as the one at his school he really didn't even have to think about it. This was divine retribution for something he must have done in a past life. It was like Glee was following whereever he went.

"The others," he started, and Finn looked at him. "Glee club members?"

"All of them," the tallest among them answered, and Blaine cursed under his breath, fishing in his pockets for a lighter and his cigarettes. However, before he could light it, Kurt stopped and turned around.

"Don't you dare," he growled.

Blaine ignored him. "My body, public road."

"Our bodies, our lungs," Finn retorted, taking the cigarette out of his mouth - _again_.

"Now, have _your_ parents never taught _you_ any manners?" Blaine shot back. The duo ignored him. "And by parents I mean that run-away dad of yours, that probably couldn't stand to be with you for an hour."

Finn turned sharply, but before he could do something like hit Blaine, Kurt awkwardly stopped him with his arms around his waist.

"Don't. He's just trying to rile you up."

And then something happened that kind of caught Blaine's attention and a smile tugged on his lips as he raised his eyebrows in wry amusment. The ever so caring Finn pushed his brother away on his shoulders not-so-caringly. Not so much to make him stumble or fall back, but enough to be more than subtle.

"You two going out?" Blaine asked sweetly. "You don't have to be shy. I don't care who's screwing each other."

"He is my brother," Kurt answered deadpan.

"_Step_brother if I'm not mistaken."

"What? Why do you even—No—What—I'm really going to punch—"

"My, my, you don't have to threaten me. I can keep secrets." Blaine interrupted, putting his hands up in a surrendering manner. "Let's just move on, my little lovebirds." He provokingly shoved himself through the two boys and continued with a smirk on his face. It took a while until the tall brunette started to follow him and then passed him to be up front again. "You can call him 'Angel' if you want." Blaine whispered and Finn missed a step, turning slightly to watch him, probably wondering whether he had heard right but apparently choosing to ignore the comment.

Blaine just chuckled, lighting a cigarette and he was surprised, when no one voiced a complaint. Kurt behind him just shook his head and then changed directions against the wind, presumably to avoid the smoke.

Oh he knew that the boys weren't dating. It was obvious that Finn was as straight as an arrow. He wasn't sure about Kurt though. And the father was a guess from the pictures he had seen on the walls. It was a shot in the dark and unexpectedly hit bulls eye. Finn had a hot temper, he was easy to read and manipulate. It could be fun having to hang around such a simpleton. Kurt on the other hand. Blaine looked at the brunette, then blew the smoke right into the others face. Kurt wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Kurt was a tough fellow.

It was easy to hate him.

"This is the store we frequent. They know Kurt and allow him to enter with a dog and help out as best as they can." Finn pointed at a little shop, hidden behind a row of maple trees and bushes across the street. It was a small shop, probably only sold necessities. He assumed the blind boy was avoiding crowded places but he couldn't say for sure.

They continued on, Finn doing the explaining while Kurt walked beside him, slightly unsteady, yet he dodged all the obstacles like fire hydrants, benches and trash cans with confidence. Even without a dog or blidman's stick. It was like he didn't even need help.

"Traffic lights don't make a sound in Lima," Finn continued on. "When there are a lot people, he can't listen well for the cars so you have to help him. Most of the time he starts walking when other people do, but let's just say he's been on the brink of getting run over by a car more than once." They crossed the traffic lights and the clicking started again. It took him a while before Blaine noticed a pattern in the intervals, faster in more crowded places, slower in empty ones.

It irritated him a lot.

"Do you do that to get attention?" Blaine asked eventually, and both boys stopped abruptly, and turned around to face him.

"Who does what?" Kurt furrowed his brows.

"That clicking sound. Do you do that to let other people know you're coming?"

"No," the smaller brunette answered, turning around and almost bumped into a bench.

"It's called echolocation," Finn explained, reaching for his brother to stabilize him.

"So you can touch him however you want, but when he touches you it's like he has some kind of contagious disease?"

Finn glared at him and Blaine just shrugged.

"He produces sounds," Finn pressed between almost closed lips. "That bounce back and tell him, where obstacles are and if there is a curb and such."

Blaine blinked at them stupidly. "What?"

"It means," Kurt explained, waving away Finn's hand. "I don't need a cane."

"Obviously."

"He's in training," Finn said, glaring at the curly brunette, who took one step back, expecting to be hit. "It's not like you can do it."

"It's not like I believe _he_ can do it."

"What'd you say?"

"Leave it, Finn." Kurt intervened.

"So, is he like batman? With super human hearing?" Blaine pushed further, seeing the crack in Finn's temper. He knew where to press, how to push. Finn made it too easy. "Do you still believe in heros? Oh right, since your father was a marine or whatever, you were probably told he was a hero. Guess you still believe it?" The tall boy clenched his fists and Blaine smirked. "Oh, what would he say if he knew his little boy was a fag?" Finn struck, but Blaine dodged it easily. "Go on, try to hit me sissy boy. Your little Mohawk isn't the only one who learned a few things in juvie."

"Finn, _stop it_!"

And there it was. So there _was_ a limit to the blind boy's patience. But it was only scratching on the surface, Blaine mused, as Finn reluctantly stopped. "For a football player you're pretty slow. What are you? Line?"

"What are you playing at?" Kurt suddenly asked before his brother could answer, going in between the two boys who were challenging each other with mere looks.

"It's my natural charm," Blaine answered, bored.

"Before you even entered the house, you tried to aggrevate us. Do you think you can get out of this just because you're acting like a total jerk? How about taking responsibilty for your actions?"

"How about acting like you're supposed to? Being blind and all."

Kurt frowned, which was a little unnerving. "What would that be?" he asked, as he took a few steps closer. "Playing the victim? Crying and bitching and telling everyone how unfair life is? Asking myself again and again 'Why me?'? This _is_ me. This is who I am. Being blind doesn't change a thing."

"It does."

"It doesn't," Finn intervened.

Blaine looked sharply up to him. "It fucking does! And you're just a fucking hypocrite who thinks that this is what you're supposed to say. Because _you_ think you're being supportive when you give in to his selfish demands."

"Me? Selfish?"

"Let me spell it out for you, princess. You're blind."

"You think I haven't noticed that in the past years?" Kurt snapped back.

"Obviously you haven't." Blaine gritted his teeth. "You. Are. Blind."

"Yeah, I got it!"

"Well, then you better start accepting that. But you're too proud to even admit that you're handicapped. Every time someone tries to help you, you brush them off. Every device that identifies you in public as blind or helps you getting around safely, you disregard. You can't even _talk_ about it! And now you are telling me you're like _Batman_, magically seeing with _echoes_, when probably the only thing you do is follow your _beloved_ brother's lead?"

This time Finn was faster than he expected and the fist smashed hard against his temple. The concrete scratched his elbows and hands, when he hit the ground and a heavy weight pressed him down, making him unable to move. He held his hands to protect his face from further ambush, but the other boy was pulled off him. Surprised, he looked up to see Kurt behind his brother, restraining him by his collar. Finn huffed, before he stood up with a final kick into Blaine's side.

"Asshole," Finn spat.

Blaine breathed in, slowly, his arms hugging his stomach as he glanced up at the angry boy looking down at him. "You fucking retard. You know nothing. About the effort he has to put in every day—"

"Finn."

"About the work he has done so far—"

"Stop it, Finn."

"You're just some ignorant, spoiled moron, who does as he wants without thinking twice about consequences."

"_Finn_!" Kurt almost yelled. "That's enough, Finn. He doesn't know. And neither did you for a long time. Let it go."

Hurt was written all over the oldest brother's features, as he heard the words. Hurt…and guilt. Blaine sat up. "Hah, so it's like this." He chuckled, propping one arm on his bent knee, looking up to the two idiots. "So you treated him like shit and now you're trying to compensate for it, is that it? Do you see yourself in me? Do you hate it? Makes me want to rub it in your face. Every. Single. Day."

It was like he had some kind of death wish, but something despicable stirred inside Blaine, when he watched them. Something that wanted them destroyed. He couldn't even pin-point the origin of this feeling and it was probably on a whim. Mood swings. He was used to them.

"A misunderstood boy, my ass. He is just a fucked up asshole." Finn grunted, turning away.

Kurt didn't move for a moment, then he looked to where Blaine was still sitting on the ground. "You okay?" He asked, but his voice suggested that he couldn't care less. So Blaine forwent an answer and just lifted himself up.

In silence they continued their brief tour through Lima. In a clipped tone, Finn pointed out the Lima Bean they hung out at, in case he was ever forced to pick Kurt up from there. They moved on further to the ordinary school building, passing the gym and the wide open football field. Without any explanation Blaine figured out that this was their school. Which was good. Because Finn as well as Kurt refused to elaborate their short visit. A lone football player was still practicing on the grounds, flinging himself into a big bodied mannequin and pushing against it.

Blaine watched him for a moment, before he turned and followed the two boys. By now, he didn't even know anymore where they were. His sense of direction was really bad, and if he had to find his way back he would probably use his GPS. Maybe, we would recognise the buildings. The only thing he really could remember was the small shop. Was he even supposed to remember the ways?

He wasn't even sure what exactly was expected of him. Right now it sounded like he was some kind of watchdog for a spoiled princess. Maybe he really was only supposed to follow Kurt around and help with whatever he needed help with.

He rolled his eyes, cursing the stupid judge.

Judge Medary. He had known him ever since his first "trial" because of assault, malicious mischief and vandalism, which gave him a free ride into juvie for about three months followed by another three months of community service. Picking up garbage in local parks, right next to his old school. Classmates used to walk by and laugh at him, throwing garbage on the lawn right after their football practice. Though that was before he had transferred to Dalton. He never saw them again.

Judge Medary, however, this was a guy he met every so often, always because of some minor cases of disturbance of the peace or shoplifting. He had been always left off the hook pretty lightly, which might be because his lawyer was either incredibly good or the judge was just soft on him. Anyway, something about the dog incident ticked the man off finally. And whatever it was, he made sure Blaine would remember. Made sure he would hit him right where he would feel it.

"Hospital," Finn said, pointing at one grey nondescript building with a huge red-cross.

"Never would have guessed…"

Finn frowned, but Kurt just pulled on his sleeve and they continued.

It was dark when they returned to the Hummel house and Blaine's legs were hurting. It was a long time since he'd walked so much, and his boots weren't really fit for walking miles upon miles. "Don't forget," Kurt said, as Finn opened the door. "Tomorrow, right after school." Before Blaine could answer, they could hear barking from the inside and the face of the blind boy lit up as he stumbled hastily out of his shoes into the house, almost tripping over a basket that was left in the hallway, and then vanished somewhere in the kitchen.

Finn frowned and a woman appeared in the hall, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, spotting the basket in the hallway and returning to what was probably the kitchen. Soft words. Finn just entered the house, moving the basket out of the way as the woman reappeared.

"You must be Blaine Anderson," she said, approaching him and reaching out her hand. He took it and shook it. "I'm Carol. Are you hungry? I made dinner."

"No," he declined, while he tried to peek inside the house for any sign of the dog. "The…" Blaine started, but stopped himself, biting his lips. The woman turned to look behind her, as he continued. "Nevermind." With that said he turned around and hopped into his black Cherokee, the woman still watching him from the door.

He started the engine, giving her a short nod.

He wasn't sure whether he could make it the next four months.

* * *

.

**Note:**

I'm not blind. I don't know anyone who is blind. I wrote this because a friend asked me to and I had to do a lot of research about how blind people cope, how they live, what hardships and ignorance they suffer. And I learned, that they are not as helpless as I always imagined. I probably have been very discriminating without meaning to.

More than ever I am intrigued at how adaptable a human being is.

I'm glad that my friend asked me to write this. Because in my "Research Rage" (as she calls it), I came across many fascinating people. One being Ben Underwood. I had seen a lot of film footage about him, watched him walking around, playing video games, basketball, riding a bike. You wouldn't know he was blind. When I heard that he died at the age of sixteen from the same cancer that stole his sight, I really became furious. Life was just unfair.

Another person I learned a lot from was Gayle Yarnall, an elderly woman (about 62 now I guess), who has a blog she randomly updates. I read all her entries beginning in 2001. Granted, her first entry was from 2001. The second from 2006… She wrote about her daily life, about her travels. She really inspired me. I almost died laughing reading her entry "Bathroom humor". If you know her blog, you might spot a lot in this FF that I learned from her or outright copied (not in the sense of copy and paste, mind you).

Obviously, I had a lot more sources, but these two were my main ones. I read like a hundred "how do blind people" FAQs. I browsed a dozen sites dealing with helpful devices for blind people. I even got my old card with Braille on it out from one of my cupboards. I guess Blaine is like a projection of my own inexperience and discrimination (though much more bad boy and mean). But just like me, he will come across.

However, I still have a lot to learn. I will continue my research. If I write something, I want it to be close to reality. I don't want to create a superhero Kurt with bat-like hearing and inhuman sense of direction. I might get a lot of things wrong. I'm not perfect and there is a lot I don't understand, like those Braille Notetakers. If I had the money I would buy them and try them out myself. Long story short: **_I do not claim that this in any way, shape or form represents how life is for the blind or low visioned people._**

The title, by the way, was inspired by the organisation "World Access for the Blind". When I told a friend about this organisation I always jumbled the words around and in the end, decided that this would have to stick with the whole FF.

* * *

You really have to curse ff-net for the lack of layout options. And html doesn't work because it doesn't take them. T^T


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